Canada Abandons Monarchy!
by VioletzeEcoFreak
Summary: England reads something troubling in a Canadian paper and decided to confront his son about it at the World Meeting. While completely smashed.


America was very, _very_ late for the latest World Meeting. So late that, while he was supposed to be leading the meeting, the position of lead speaker was given to Canada. Said young man wasn't particularly eager to take such a big role on the world stage, so to speak, but people seemed to think he'd do a good job, being America's twin and whatnot.

He stood at the front of the long, oval table and tried to find a friendly face, something reassuring. France gave a brief nod and smile, as if to say "Go on," when their eyes locked and Canada made a mental note to thank his papa later on. He turned to England, hoping for another gesture to prove he wasn't going to be chased away by some domineering personality or another (he doubted Switzerland would let that stand, though), but the older nation's eyes were intent on reading something he was holding discretely under the table. He was getting redder and redder.

This was not helping.

"H-Hello," Canada said softly. Germany made a polite coughing noise and tried to indicate he'd need to speak louder.

"_Ciao_, Canada!" North Italy said brightly, waving. The southern half of Italy tried to tug the enthusiastic nation down immediately.

"_C-Ciao_, Italy…" Canada mumbled in a reply. He made a second mental note to get advice from Germany on how to lead these things, just in case he survived this one and was called upon to lead another. "Let's get to the first order of business," he mumbled.

"What was that?" Spain called from far down the table.

"Let's get to the first order of business!" Canada shouted again. England's eyes flicked up from the paper and stayed on Canada's reddening face. His hand went unsteadily up.

"Ah, yes England?" the young man said, hoping that his former father would help him out. Except that his eyes were glazed and the feverish glow of drunkenness was clear on his face. A string of curses went off in Canada's mind in both English and French.

"Helloooooo," he drawled, toying with the "oh" sound in a few of his accents. He sat up unsteadily. "Allo, Canada." His attempt at a French accent was horrible. He looked past the man at the front of the table for a moment, then his eyes went back into focus. "God bless us all," he enunciated slowly.

Canada's mind was now mostly trying to calculate how drunk England was, potential reasons behind this, and why God would find it amusing to pin a drunk Briton on him. He was, after all, only 142. Still a young thing!

His mind stopped when England pulled out what was likely a trashy tabloid. "Explanation please!" he demanded. The top of the tabloid read, "CANADA ABANDONS MONARCHY!". About halfway down the page there was a dividing line, and presumably the same article was there in French, with an upside-down "CANADA ABANDONNE LA MONARCHIE!" at the bottom.

"I didn't--"

England smacked the paper and his fist against the table. "The least you could have done was give me a call," he said moodily, swaying unsteadily. "A ring? A dingle?" Pause. Canada made an undignified sputtering noise.

"Oh no," England continued. The room had taken on a stunned sort of silence, awed by the fact quiet, harmless Canada would do something so daring as cut himself off from the monarchy (even if it was entirely symbolic at this time), and amazed at how utterly smashed yet articulate England was. "I have to read about it in a tabloid, like a normal person." He pouted.

Spain wondered why England was loosening his tie. Or rather, attempting to. His fingers fumbled far too much, inhibited by his inebriated state. Canada, on the other hand, wondered exactly _when_ he'd cut himself off from the monarchy and made a third mental note to ask his boss later. His eyes never left England's angry red face.

"It's humiliating!" he whined. Another pause. North Italy was already shifting away from the table. Russia sidled closer, curious.

"Now, Canada," he said, leaning forward and sounding almost reasonable. "Without meeee, you are nothing. Yes, it's true!" he shouted before Canada could open his mouth in reply. "I am the only thing that holds you together! _Vous et encore ensemble!_ See? French!" he shouted frantically. His French nearly made many of the Francophone nations weep in despair. France was using all his willpower to not shout out the correct pronunciation.

"England, please, calm down," Canada tried to say, holding up his hands as if the sight on them would tranquilize the older nation.

"And without _me_ and the French," the smashed nation continued, unperturbed, "you are just an American."

Canada flinched at the accusation and looked at England with his infamous passive anger. For once England was completely unbothered. Canada's fourth mental note was that when England was smashed his usual tactics in getting people to behave themselves would not likely work.

"And, yes, it's truuue." England snorted a little at the sound of the drawn out "u". "And America, he only wants you for one thing. Your _body_." Canada made an incredulous noise, because not even France was _that_ bad. (Although, yes, lately some nations had been regarding his ample supply of fresh water enviously.)

"He doesn't love you like _I_ love yoooou," England said, lifting one leg and placing his foot on his chair. Something hungry was sitting in his glazed-over eyes now. "I loooove you," he repeated loudly. Maybe if England hadn't been so distracting, with his sudden declaration of love, Canada would've noticed France telling Belgium to pay up or Hungary rummaging in her bag for her cell phone camera. Instead he just wore a very startled expression, his heart rate shooting up and his face turned a very bright red. Surprise had never really suited Canada well.

"There, I've said it." England looked distinctly relieved. "I love you." He seemed to recognize Canada's surprise. England had never said he'd loved the boy before, even where the feeling was familial and Canada was only a new colony. "I know, I've never said it before, but that's because…" He voice dropped a little. "You know I'm English. I have a hard time with my emotions, you must know what I'm saying." A bit of a hysterical giggle infiltrated his voice. He leaned over the table, his hands planted firmly on the wood surface. Scotland and Wales, sitting on either side of him, edged away.

"But there it is!" He had one knee on the table now, and steadied by that his hands went up to make absurd hand motions. "I love you!" he declared again. "I-I love your real maple syrup! Your Mounties, your Ukrainian dancers, your fiddlers…" He brought his other knee on the table, his hands coming back down so that he could move towards Canada. "I love your moose, and your trappers, and your _couer de boooois_," he cooed. Canada was much closer now, and that pleased England. Not that the poor, shocked nation had moved an inch since the first "I love yoooou".

"I love those furry little woodland creatures, and your hockey players, and Wayne Gretzky!" He made a little giggly noise and got off the table. Now the slightly taller nation was only a metre or two away, which was much better. "Wayne Gretzky takes Pierre Trudeau into the boards, Trudeau's down, good!" he said, now not even thirty centimetres away from Canada and reaching for his tie. Canada stared down as if England had come from a different planet.

His mind was now full of mental notes, including teaching England who was a hockey player and who was a politician and finding out what England had drunk and where he could find some for later.

"And the maple syrup," England repeated, perhaps a little hysterically, now tugging at Canada's tie with little success. "Bears are riding down the beautiful…" He thought for a moment. "Saint Lawrence River." His noises became more giggling and hysterical than coherent as Canada gently took his hands away from the red tie.

"Let me see the tabloid, please," Canada said, trying his hardest to contain his voice and not let England return to undoing his tie. Germany passed it up.

Canada read it as best as he could, both the English and French sides, gently pushing England's hand away a few times in the process, before declaring the paper a prank.

"The English uses American spelling. The French is Parisian, not Québécois," Canada pronounced. Oh. _Oh_. What brain cells England had left to use quickly brought him to the (correct) conclusion that America and France had created the paper to get a rise out of him.

England began muttering darkly and turned to France. The Frenchman was already standing and trying to quietly make his way to the door.

"You wine bastard!" England bellowed, running after France surprisingly well for someone who'd supposedly had far too much to drink. Canada followed both of them, trying his best to mediate the situation as he sprinted.

Silence reigned in the meeting room.

"Ah, America-san," Japan finally said, "would you please come out from under my chair?" America smirked from his position and turned his camera off.

Canada, meanwhile, had chosen to allow France to escape for the time being, although England was being held back by his wrist. His blush turned from drunken to humiliated as he heard the Canadian gasp behind him.

"You run too fast," Canada complained, although he knew he had the strength and endurance to keep up with the perennially fighting nations.

"Let me go, git," England said half-heartedly. He wasn't about to cry, but it would be best if he got away from the situation before anyone could make him feel any more like an idiot. Canada was clearly doing his best not to laugh at all the foolish things England had said.

Well, that was half true. Canada knew that if he laughed England would run off, likely never visit Canada again, and never look him in the eye again. Instead he tried to manoeuvre himself and England so that they were face-to-face.

He placed a soft kiss on the drunken man's forehead and hid a chuckle behind his closed fist. "I like my _coureur de bois_, too." A second, warmer kiss landed on England's mouth. England tried to kiss back but was gently pushed away by Canada.

"Later," he said in a low voice with a wink and smile that were distinctly French. "After the meeting, at my house." He did laugh as England nodded almost eagerly. Maybe later--_much _later--they'd have a good-natured laugh over this whole mess. _Maybe._

_----_

Hetalia Kink Meme? I have never heard of such a place! /liar Just pretend, you know, that this is the first time you've read this.

Based on a skit the Canadian comedy troupe "Kids in the Hall" performed in which the queen sends a message to Canada. I eneded up stealing a good portion of England's dialogue from that skit. Just search "Kids In The Hall - Message from Queen of England To Canada" on YouTube. It's well worth watching. There's also a magnificent, impossibly wonderful comic fill that is much more hilarious and leans on the platonic side on the kink meme. Comic!anon, have you de-anoned without me spotting you?

By the way, French joke! Bonus points to whoever caught the mistake in England's dialogue. (Hint: Canada says the same thing, but _properly_.)


End file.
